


Just one hit of you, I knew I'd never be the same

by Lolistar92



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Green Lantern (Comics)
Genre: Action, Alpha Bruce Wayne, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, BAMF!Hal Jordan, Biting, Coming Untouched, Complicated Relationships, Dirty Talk, Dominance, Dubious Consent, Fight Sex, Fuck Or Die, Hand Jobs, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multiple Orgasms, Omega Hal Jordan, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Self-Indulgent, Smut, Soft at the end <3, Wet & Messy, blink and you miss it angst, frenemies with benefits?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:55:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23222098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lolistar92/pseuds/Lolistar92
Summary: Hal feels like the floor is rushing up to meet him, the pit of anxiety giving way, leaving him wrong footed. “You guys got blasted with asex bomb?”“Just Barry and Bruce,” Clark clarifies, a splash of pink on his cheeks. “But Barry’s metabolism worked fast enough to get it out of his system.”“But Wayne’s didn’t.” Something clicks, but it’s such a weird thought he almost doesn’t want to voice it out loud. He does anyway. “He’s in rut, isn’t he?”
Relationships: Hal Jordan/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 81
Kudos: 587
Collections: Hal and Bruce





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *waves* Hi guys, don't mind if I step into the Bruce/Hal tag! 
> 
> A very cliche trope but it's been one that practically flew from my fingers and has been niggling at me since the DC animated movies gave me the first inkling of what this pairing could be like. 
> 
> And while they may not be aware, I absolutely have to give a shoutout to this pairing's deity FabulaRasa. Their fics have inspired me to give this a shot. You know an author is beyond magical when they alone can make you ship a pairing this hard. 
> 
> **Possible trigger warnings:** This is very much **'Fuck or Die'**. Bruce isn't in a frame of mind to consent but there are pre-existing agreements made within the JL for instances like the one explored in the fic. Hal isn't Bruce's choice for partner but they have a ~history~. Hal isn't exactly an eager beaver because of this, but he volunteers. It's listed just as **'dubcon'** and not as an archive warning because of my judgement, but I am leaving this warning here to leave it up to you to continue forth. So, please, please take care of yourself and carefully read the tags. 
> 
> Also as a fair warning, I haven't read the comics. I am relying on media knowledge and other fanfics for my base of these characters. It's up to you how you visualize it, but I set this using the DCU Animated Movies verse as my reference point. 
> 
> For those that stay, I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Title from Camila Cabello's 'Never be the same'

It’s the first time in _months_ Hal has landed in the Watchtower without some staggering injury keeping him grounded. The end of his mission coincided with his Oa mandated time off, so it’s with a jaunty whistle that Hal bears with the seventeen million security and decontamination procedures and enters the heart of the tower.

Some pop song from decades past pervades his head, and Hal rolls with it, shaking his hips as he makes his way through the hallway. It’s oddly quiet, but Hal’s long since stopped letting the eerie feeling bother him. The soundproofing on the Watchtower was maximized as much as possible to allow a sanctum for the supers with heightened hearing.

He passes up the fork that will take him to the dorms. A nap sounds good, he has flown some hours to get here, but the idea of warm sun, a cool breeze and a six pack of beer sounds even better. He thinks of the nice thick dildo waiting at home too, but that can come after the beach.

Wayne’s irritating voice and Diana’s frown of disapproval is the only reason he’s even bothering to follow procedure and check in with the Watchtower first. He heads to where the hub of the tower is, eager to find someone to check in with and be on his way.

It’s not a long walk, but there’s something _off_ about it, more eerie than it normally is. He wants to chalk it up to being away for so long, but that’s not it either. At some point Hal knows he’s passed where the soundproofing layers down, the closer he gets to the control room.

But it’s still quiet.

Their rag-tag group of do-gooders has expanded over the years, and Hal knows they have enough people to always keep a sizable amount on the Watchtower. But he can’t hear anyone.

Just as he’s about to enter the pathway that leads to the control center, _Superman_ is suddenly there.

“Woah!” Hal yells, caught off guard and nearly slams face first into tits the size of dinner plates. Not that he’ll ever say that out loud.

“ _Hal?_ I thought I heard someone here, but I assumed it was one of the Batkids again.”

Clark looks, well, frazzled, is the first word to come to mind. His hair is dishevelled, his iconic curl nowhere to be seen. His uniform actually looks _rumpled_. Hal didn’t think there was a single force in the universe that could make that alien outfit look anything less than pristine.

“Batkids? Again? Am I missing something? By the way, I thought you were still on leave? Ollie told me Lois is pregnant. Congrats, man.”

Overcompensation, John said to Hal when he first picked up on Hal’s lack of filter when he’s back on home ground. Too much time with beings that required a wide range of communication techniques. John kindly doesn’t point out that Hal’s the only Lantern to suffer from this.

But he digresses.

The smile on Clark’s face is forced. It’s so foreign Hal can’t help but stare. He and Clark aren’t the closest of all the League members, but Clark is the type to be everyone’s friend. You just can’t hate the guy, even if you secretly mock how he’s probably the type to turn himself in if he so much as jaywalks.

“Thank you, Hal. Yes, I’m still technically on leave, but,” Clark hesitates, and Hal is immediately tense.

“Oh fuck. What’s happened? You said Batkids – is something up with Wayne?”

Clark sighs, a hand coming up to push his already messy hair around. He takes a visibly large inhale, which makes Hal’s anticipation heighten, only to completely freeze.

“Hal,” Clark suddenly says urgently, hands coming up onto his shoulders. Hal isn’t ashamed to admit he completely flinches at the speed Superman moves, and at the sudden weight on his shoulders. Clark is barely holding himself in check, but it still feels like Hal is lifting two hundred pounds right now.

Before he can say anything, Clark rushes on, “Tell me your suit acts as a filter. Tell me that you can’t smell anything right now.”

The words are so fucking bizarre, Hal’s actually speechless for a second. The urgency in Clark’s voice and the way his blue eyes bore into Hal’s masked ones gets him to start thinking, his mindset already slipping into mission mode.

“The ring creates a thin layer of atmosphere around my uniform – it’s how I can go to alien planets and not have to worry about air toxicity or gravity or whatever. Why, you rip a big one in there?” Hal jokes, aiming for levity.

Clark shoulders slump in relief, hands leaving Hal’s shoulders and he hopes it isn’t obvious how his legs stagger a bit at the release of weight.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s going on now?” Hal asks lightly, but with a steel edge to his voice. Any longer and Hal’s going to investigate on his own.

“It’s a long story,” Clark’s voice sounds weary, but he’s already turning around to walk back to the control room. Without prompting, Hal follows.

“Give me a t-l-d-r, Kansas. Does this have to do with the fact that it’s a ghost town here? And why the Batclan isn’t allowed up?”

Entering the monstrosity of a control room, Hal’s suspicions are confirmed. There is no one here.

“Not just the Batclan, huh?” Hal mutters, but Clark hears anyway.

“We’re in quarantine.”

Hal whips around to stare at Clark in clear surprise. “What?”

In the nearly ten years of the League, the closest emergency to require quarantine procedures was when JL members were being mind-controlled by nano-bots unleashed by the Blood Brotherhood, and that had been resolved quickly by the Titans.

Clark grimaces. “It’s new, almost twelve hours. They called me in because it started at home, in Metropolis -”

Hal has to interrupt, “It’s Earth-side!?”

Clark nods, then pauses. “Well, it was. An underwater facility just outside of Metropolis. Kon and the Young Justice team discovered it first, while they were investigating something else. They infiltrated because it wasn’t on record and discovered – well, I guess the short version would be a biochemical aerial bomb. It was set to go off that night. Most of the others were already on missions of their own, so it was just a few of us to go in for backup, and they called me in because I was closest.”

Hal sees the flash of regret go through Clark’s eyes and it makes panic momentarily seize in his throat.

“Who’s down?” He can’t bring himself to say dead.

Clark’s eyes meet his and he must see the way Hal is bracing himself because he rushes to say, “No one was seriously injured. I,” Clark entire demeanour suddenly changes and there is something hesitant, something that Hal can’t put a name to, as he says, “it, um, wasn’t the type of bomb you’re thinking. Tim was explaining it. It’s more like a, um, hyper pheromone bomb?”

Hal feels like the floor is rushing up to meet him, the pit of anxiety giving way, leaving him wrong footed. “You guys got blasted with a _sex bomb?”_

“Just Barry and Bruce,” Clark clarifies, a splash of pink on his cheeks. “But Barry’s metabolism worked fast enough to get it out of his system.”

“But Wayne’s didn’t.” Something clicks, but it’s such a weird thought he almost doesn’t want to voice it out loud. He does anyway. “He’s in rut, isn’t he?”

This time he’s not imagining the pink on Clark’s cheeks. It’s all the confirmation he needs.

“Okay,” Hal says slowly, “so big bad Bats is ready to hump the nearest living thing. He’s out of commission. You’re here because you’re effectively a null and can actually hold him back if he decides to hunt for prey. Where’s everyone else?”

Clark winces at Hal’s words but doesn’t correct him. “Canary and Arrow are with Young Justice. The team was in a separate area and got exposed to a different toxin, more similar to Scarecrow’s fear gas. They’re okay,” Clark rushes to add, though Hal has to guiltily admit that wasn’t his pressing concern at the moment. Clark continues, “Aquaman and Martian Manhunter are dealing with the aftermath of the site explosion. Most of the other Leaguers are on their own missions, with the Titans taking point at Mount Justice. Wonder Woman and Cyborg are technically in the Watchtower but in our emergency monitor room, dealing with any other issues that might pop up.”

“Alright,” Hal says, stilling battling with the urge to laugh hysterically at the fact that I-could-be-mistaken-for-a-robot-Wayne got hit with a sex bomb. “So why do you look like you’ve battened down for a third World War?”

Hal half expects another blush, reasoning that if Bats is all sexed up, Clark would be his emergency partner of choice. They had to sign an agreement, years back. Half the team has a dynamic and in the case of induction of their cycle, had a fuck buddy. So, he’s assuming that Wayne has been trying to get into Clark’s pants for the hours they’ve been trapped up here.

Instead, Clark grimaces. His entire countenance changes again, a hunted and helpless look coupled with frustration that has Hal’s warning signs go up. This can’t be good.

“Bruce was exposed pretty bad. He was fighting in the room just outside the lab. When Barry went in to secure the area, one of the goons managed to get a lucky shot in and tripped Barry up. He crashed into the lab and one of the pheromone canisters broke and quickly affected the entire room. Barry managed to get Bruce out of there fast enough,” the way Clark frowns hard, Hal doesn’t have to wonder what happened to the goons Barry couldn’t get to in time, “but the exposure had already hit them both at this point. Bruce quickly informed me that he and Barry were hit, and I followed our quarantine procedures. I took them both up here, and Bruce just locked himself in. He hasn’t been out in over six hours, but I can hear-” Clark cuts himself off.

“That bad, huh?” Hal asks softly, seeing the frustration in Clark’s eyes. Fuck. Fuck. He’s already thinking what he should not be thinking.

“He won’t let me help. I tried to actually break down the door, but he, _damnit,_ ” Clark swears in anger, something Hal rarely hears him do, “he has some kryptonite in there. The toxin isn’t just working as a sex thing, Hal. It’s heightening everything. Bruce is in such a rage it’s affecting Diana and Victor as alphas, making them agitated. Dick and Barry are working on an antidote but who knows how long that will take.”

The cool ball of anxiety is back, and his seventh-grade health science teacher is suddenly in the back of his head, reminding him of how dangerous an alpha in prolonged rut is.

“Six – no what, like seven hours,” Hal says, “and no one has been able to get in his room?”

Clark’s shoulders slump, “I can hear him, Hal. He’s in pain. He spent an hour just tearing apart his room. Then he went silent two hours back. I think he’s trying to meditate to calm himself, but I can hear how fast his heart is pounding. I don’t know why he won’t let me in, this is _why_ we have the Cycle agreements.”

Hal’s hands clench and unclench where he has his arms crossed over his chest. Fuck. He should not be thinking this.

“Has Dick tried to contact-” Hal cuts himself off. He was about to say flavour of the week, but that feels wrong. Wayne would tear apart any regular beta or omega at this stage of his rut and as far as he knows the man doesn’t have a lover.

Clark, the good guy that he is, misunderstands Hal, offering, “Dick tried to contact Selena a few hours ago but he can’t reach her.”

Hal doesn’t know who Selena is, but if Clark knows her, and if she is a candidate to help keep Wayne from dying via blue balls, she must be important. Well that fucking sucks.

The voice in the back of his head is getting louder.

“Canary?” Hal asks weakly. A last ditch effort.

“She and Oliver offered in the beginning when Bruce turned me down. Bruce was still coherent enough at the point – and Hal, it was terrifying, the way he told them that he might end up hurting them if they came near him.”

And yeah, Hal has no trouble imagining that. Maybe if Wayne didn’t know Oliver or Dinah, he could have done it, treated it like a rough fuck. Dinah alone Bruce probably could have accepted, but the fact that she and Oliver were mated wouldn’t appeal to alphas like Wayne. Probably the same reason he turned Clark down. Fucking Batman and his self-destructive morality. 

Even as he thinks that uncharitable thought, he knows that isn’t quite right either. Biology wants what biology wants. And Clark, Dinah and Oliver aren’t what Wayne _needs_.

Fuck.

Clark sounds so defeated when he says, “I feel so helpless. The only thing I can do to help Bruce is make sure Dick or Tim don’t come in here. A few younger heroes offered, but I know Bruce would never forgive me – never forgive himself – if I let it get that far. I was thinking, we could contact those omega rut services – if we get a tight enough NDA and all the other legal -”

At that moment, Hal knows.

He mentally says goodbye to the promise of a warm sun and cold beer.

“I’ll do it.”

Clark, bless his heart, just looks confused. “Do what? Call for service? You know a company? 

“No, Clark,” Hal interrupts just a bit impatiently, new agitation burning in his stomach. “I’ll help Wayne.”

Clark looks so surprised, Hal actually musters up a bit of good will towards Wayne. So, the bastard had kept his promise of keeping Hal’s dynamic a secret. 

Clark shakes his head. “Hal, I know you want to help,” Hal really doesn’t but Clark doesn’t need to know that, “but I don’t think Bruce is going to be any more receptive to you than he is going to be to any of us.”

Hal rolls his eyes, not that Clark can see, since his eyes are still masked. “Because you’re betas, alphas and, no offense, essentially a null. He needs an omega.”

“Right, so we’ll call - ” Understanding dawns on Clark’s features as he quickly chokes off his sentence. A quick flicker of hope, before he visibly tampers it down. To his credit, he picks himself up pretty quickly.

“I – you would-” Clark struggles for words and Hal concentrates on the novelty rather than his pounding heart.

Time for the kicker.

“We’ve fucked. Before.”

Now Clark looks like he can be tipped over with the slightest push of a finger. “You- ”

“No need to act so surprised, Blue. Anyone would want to tap this,” Hal cocks his hips, doing what he does best and trying to inject lightness in the situation. Clark doesn’t look any less wrong-footed.

“I can’t ask -”

“I’m offering. It’s time for my heat anyway, two birds with one stone and all that.”

Clark still looks floored, and Hal feels that zing of superiority at one-upping the Man of Steel skirt through him. It’s probably the only thing that keeps him from thinking about this too hard.

“Look we need a game plan, so listen up. No one is in the Tower except you, Victor and Diana, right?” Hal waits for the dazed nod, continuing, “I’m going to tear down his door with my construct. If he’s as far gone as I think he is, he’s going to chase me. I’m going to lead him to the training room. We’re probably going to fight, he’s probably going to win, and we’re most likely going to fuck. Make sure the room is completely closed off on your end. I don’t know how long Wayne’s rut is going to last, but wait at least six hours before opening it again, okay?”

So, Superman actually does have the capacity to look green.

“Fight? Why would you fight?”

Hal really doesn’t want to be the one to explain this. It’s hard enough explaining the concept to betas, but to a null who has never experienced base biology?

“Dominance, Clark,” Hal explains, racking a hand through his hair. “You said he trashed his room? It’s because it’s not his den. The Watchtower goes to painful lengths to keep itself scent neutral. He is out of his territory here, can’t smell threats. He’s in fight mode, especially with his self-exile. He’s going to lash out at anyone who comes near him. He knows me, though. Will recognize my scent.” At least Hal sincerely hopes he does. “Anyone else, he’s going to go in for a kill. With an omega, it’s more a measure up. I’ve passed his test before. I smell him, trigger my heat, he’ll do that alpha bullshit, and bada-bing, bada-boom. We’re going to try and make some babies.”

He tries to be as cavalier as possible, but Clark must hear the thinnest reluctance in his voice.

“You don’t want to do this,” Clark says with slow realization.

Hal cuts that train of thought off as viciously as possible. “Because Spooky hasn’t consented to me. We may have fucked before, but that was _years_ ago. It doesn’t feel right, but we’re in a fuck or die situation, aren’t we?” The way Clark is frowning fiercely at him tells him Clark is hearing what Hal isn’t saying.

He’s not lying. He feels, honestly, icky that Spooky doesn’t get a choice. Because Bats had made it very clear the first and only time they fucked, where a chance of a repeat performance stands. In the depths of the seventh circle of the underworld, apparently. Hal can take a hint. But this goes beyond a matter of taste. Right now, this is a mission.

“Listen, I’ll give you this. Call Dick. Ask him how far they are. If there is an antidote, if they’re progressing well, we will wait. But Clark, the longest an alpha has survived an unintended rut was eighteen hours. Calling in some professionals with the legal shit is gonna take too long. I mean, if anyone on Earth can beat that record, it’d definitely be Bats. But the thing is, Clark, that number was based on a healthy alpha that regularly allowed his ruts. I’m a gambling kinda guy, Clark, and I would bet that Spooky doesn’t. That he supresses the fuck out of his ruts and only allows them when he medically has to.”

Hal already knows he’s right, because he can see the mirror of Bruce in himself. He knows the signs.

Clark looks pole-axed, and Hal honestly does sympathize with the big lug.

He forces himself to relax from his defensive stance, giving Clark a small smile. “The situation sucks, Supes. Believe me, I know. But Way – Bruce, needs us. Fuck or die, Clark. And I’m not going to let him die over something as stupid as busted balls.”

Hal hangs around in the background while Clark converses with Dick. He doesn’t have super hearing but even he can hear the panic thinly veiled in Dick’s voice. When Clark harshly says, “No, Dick. I won’t let you do that,” Hal has to bury the tiniest, tiniest sting of betrayal. Because honestly, he wouldn’t let Dick do this either. It has to be Hal. And Hal has never shirked his duty before.

Hal doesn’t say anything, can’t think of any quip, when Clark cancels the call with his head hanging down.

This time, Hal turns around and leads them.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the long wait and the shorter chapter! This is just a build up to the smut which I've already started writing. 
> 
> Possible trigger warnings: Dubcon (overarching theme); Canon typical violence; very very brief bit of squick and blood (omegan male reproductive tracts link to the womb through the rectum, the vaginal path pushes it out of the way to overtake the space for 24-48 hours during heat which means something akin to menstrual blood)

He’s not nervous. Right now, Hal’s in his mission headspace.

But beside him, Clark looks like he’s seconds away from throwing himself in front of Wayne’s door. Whether to protect Hal or Wayne, is a toss up. Probably both. Inching more towards Wayne though.

But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t ask Hal if he’s sure. It’s been about eight hours since Bruce was exposed.

Hal can’t hear anything behind the closed doors. He raises an eyebrow at Clark, who whispers, “He knows we’re outside.”

Clark looks worse now that they’re by Wayne’s door, no doubt feeling the proximity of kryptonite. Hal needs to make sure if – when – Wayne attacks, it’s towards him. Clark’s bleeding heart probably won’t even allow him to put up a fight. In the state Wayne’s in right now, Hal really has no inclination to test Wayne’s no-kill rules. Hal has never seen an alpha so far gone, outside of those shitty VHS tapes he had to watch in school. ‘No better than wild animals’ the chiding announcer had said.

Hal highly doubts Wayne’s behaviour would ever resemble anything like a wild animal. More like a deadly, super trained, robotic, assassin.

So maybe he’s just a little bit nervous.

“Alright, well, here goes nothing.”

Clark backs away and Hal creates a construct of a giant clawed hand. He tapers the fingers enough to get into the minuscule space afforded by the wall and the door, grabs a hold and wrenches it back.

He scarcely has it tossed in the opposite direction of Clark, when Wayne body slams Hal.

“Fuck!” Hal yells, taken by surprise as he’s tackled into the opposing wall.

No time to make a construct – Hal hits his back and then head hard against the metal of the wall, and stars explode behind his eyes. Fuck, Wayne is _fast_.

He doesn’t have time to catch his breath. Instinctively, he uses his legs to push Wayne off him; the punch Wayne aims at him ends up just clipping Hal instead of doing real damage. And fuck would it have done real damage. The deafening chime of metal reverberates through the corridor. Hal didn’t even know they could _do_ that.

Hal can already tell that Wayne is too far gone to communicate, dashing all his hopes that he could at least get the other man on board with what their plan was.

Wayne has found his vantage point a few steps away. He’s in a fighting stance, buck ass naked, eyes focused with deadly intent as he calmly assesses them both.

“He can control himself, just fucking great. As if he wasn’t already a pain in the ass,” Hal mutters, rubbing his sore back, and evaluating Wayne.

Media likes to paint rut gone alphas as something wild, rugged. Handsome in their loss of control, as if imminent death by over-heat wasn’t a concern.

Wayne looks nothing like that. His eyes are completely blown, barely any blue left to be seen, only visible because of the stark contrast against his bloodshot eyes. A red flush darkens most of his body, as blood pounds furiously through the thin layer of skin. There is definitely a case to be made about how you can’t not appreciate all those fine muscles front and center, but when they’re attached to a man that has the grip strength to crush heads – well. To complete the look, Wayne’s lips are pulled back in a small snarl, his incisors eye catching in their length.

That’s not the only eye-catching thing.

_Oh fuck_. He’d forgotten how much Wayne was packing. His nearly purple half-hard cock looks ridiculously huge, balls painfully full and swollen. His crowning knot looks sickly with how misshapen it sits at the base of Wayne’s penis. Dried cum is spattered all along Wayne’s pelvis, the hair on his upper thighs and lower belly caked with it.

Overall, it would almost be a comical sight, if it wasn’t for the way Hal distinctly felt like prey.

Wayne stands defensively at the front of the door, looking back and forth between Hal and Clark, trying to assess who the bigger threat is.

“Hey there, Spooky. Nice look you have going on there – oh, fuck!”

Hal has to dodge as Wayne does a move that Hal is sure 99.9% of the human race can’t do, suddenly pushing low to the ground and using his upper body to support him as he uses his long legs to try and get Hal in the gut.

“Bruce!” Clark intervenes, “can you understand me? We’re gonna try and help-”

Hal has to actually use a construct to push Clark away – Wayne pivots his body and kicks out immediately towards Clark. His foot misses Clark by scant centimeters but hits the wall with enough force that Hal winces. Metal clangs even louder.

There is no other way to describe the look on Wayne’s face as anything other than blood thirsty, even as he calmly collects himself with the new available space. He still hasn’t said a single word.

In the myriad of emotions running through Hal right now, he can definitely say fear is one of them. He’s never seen Wayne like this. Without the face, this could have been any wild alpha and Hal wouldn’t have given it a second thought. But this is Wayne – fucking Batman – looking like he wants their blood in his mouth.

Hal hovers next to Clark. “Sure you don’t want to just knock him unconscious?” he laughs weakly.

Clark doesn’t spare him a glare, still at a battle-ready stance.

“Guess that’s a no.”

This time it’s Clark who pushes him out of the way. Hal hits into the wall just as the sound of flesh hitting flesh reaches his ears.

Wayne is absolutely deadly as he takes on Clark and _pushes him back_. The way Clark is gritting his teeth, actually bracing against the blows coming his way, he knows Wayne isn’t holding back. There must be something of Batman still in Wayne because he isn’t pushing Clark far, probably trying to keep him close in range to the kryptonite.

_Can’t recognize Clark’s scent, but still knows he’s the bigger threat._ Hal doesn’t know if that helps or hurts his chances of Wayne recognizing Hal.

“Hey, what am I, chopped liver?” Hal interjects, deciding to just dive in, creating a construct of a wooden paddle to slap Wayne’s ass.

Or he would have if Wayne’s freaky senses hadn’t alerted him. Wayne dodges in one move, sweeping Clark’s legs from under him with the same momentum. He’s like a fucking cheetah, using that momentum to spin around and leap at Hal.

For a second time, Hal gets the full weight of Wayne’s nearly three hundred pounds of muscle crash into him. And not in the sexy way.

Only a hastily thought of pillow construct keeps him from cracking his spine, but as it is, he might end up suffocating at the way Wayne bears down on him.

“Clark!” Hal chokes, quickly getting his forearms up as Wayne makes a move to attack.

The weight suddenly disappears and Hal watches as both men crash into the opposite wall of the hallway, Clark first. His mouth gapes as an actual dent appears.

He really doesn’t want to dissolve his suit right now.

But Clark’s struggling, one hand holding the arm Wayne is using to pin him via his throat, the other holding Wayne’s other fist.

“Plan A it is then,” Hal says, mostly for Clark’s benefit.

Fearlessness, a bit of bravery, and whole lot of stupid, Carol would say. Well, he didn’t get this ring by being a coward or a shitty friend.

Before he can psyche himself out, Hal wills his ring to power down.

_No regrets_ , he thinks as his first inhale out of his suit nearly sends him to his knees.

Woah. No seriously, woah.

Hal quickly switches to panting through his mouth, head spinning at the irresistible scent coming off of Wayne. God, forget sun, beer or whatever Hal had been thinking of an ideal vacation. He wants to wrap himself up in this scent, bury it inside himself, roll around in it.

“Fuck.”

He doesn’t have to worry about his body taking too long to warm up. The smell is so potent, Hal can feel the yearning already taking over the pit of his stomach. He has to lean against the wall to get his bearings for a second.

Clark and Wayne are still struggling. Hal knows it’s going to take a few moments for Bruce to catch Hal’s scent. He needs to get himself together right now.

Clark manages to push Wayne off him with a loud grunt, and Wayne skids a few feet away. Clark takes a moment to look at Hal, and Hal nods to him quickly. He can do this.

His skin is already tingling. He is heating up, body and mind seeing something he wants – fuck, he suddenly can’t stop staring at Wayne’s exposed dick just hanging there – and working through the last of his suppressants. It’s not a difficult task, Hal’s been off his dosage the last two days, in preparation. But seriously, holy fuck. Wayne’s scent is enough to send an off-cycle and suppressed omega into heat.

It’s almost tangible, the moment Wayne realizes there is an omega in front of him.

Wayne’s focus immediately zeroes in on Hal, which should not be as stupidly hot as it is. Wayne inhales strongly, almost comically, and his body shifts to turn towards Hal.

“Is it working?” Clark asks, breaking the spell over Wayne.

Wayne reorients himself, facing Clark again. Confusion wears over his face, more open than it’s ever been. Hal can see the struggle of his instincts figuring out if Clark is a threat to his chances of mating, recognizing his strength but unable to smell interest.

“It could stand to work a little less well,” Hal grits through his teeth as a wave of cramps roll through his midsection. His body is completely on board with an impromptu heat, working quickly to prepare itself. A stab of pain shoots through his pelvis, and he has to fight not to double over.

Meanwhile Wayne has decided Clark isn’t a threat after all, and Clark has to rush to meet him before he gets too close to Hal.

“How much longer?” Clark shouts, grunting in pain immediately after as he takes a three-hit combo to his torso for delaying Wayne’s mating.

“A few minutes,” Hal pants. He stops resisting the urge to squat on the ground, redistributing his weight as pressure bears down from the inside. His male omegan tract begins to expand inside him, blocking out his rectum and creating a path to his womb. His omegan hole begins to heat up in the tell-tale way. A few more minutes and it will dilate to the point where Hal can take a knot. As soon as his slick comes in, he’ll be ready.

With the way Wayne’s heady scent permeates the air, the stupidly hot way Wayne is managing to keep Clark down, it’ll be sooner than even Hal expects. Wayne is releasing some grade A incentive for his body to hurry the fuck up.

Hal breathes through the discomfort. It’s nothing he isn’t used to, and he’s dealt with far worse. Granted, for most of his heats he’s had the comfort of his own bed to wait out his bodily processes but never let it be said Hal can’t fly by the seat of his pants.

It also doesn’t hurt that there is something distinctly erotic, watching Earth’s Finest wrestle mostly naked.

Not that his danger alert isn’t blaring at him too. His ring finger itches to construct the suit again, but Hal grits his teeth against the anxiety as Wayne manages a palm thrust right at Clark’s nose. It would probably break and send cartilage up to the brain on anyone else. Hal can smell Clark’s blood from here.

But while Clark isn’t going all out, he’s also not holding back. He grabs the arm that struck him, using his powers to hop over Wayne and spin him around, slamming him face first into the wall with his arm pinned behind him.

Wayne is only pinned between the time it takes Hal to inhale, already contorting, using his legs to get Clark at his knees, switching their position when Clark buckles.

“Any time now,” Hal whispers to himself, gritting his teeth as another roll of cramps layers through him.

In answer, the sharpest spike of pain yet rails through him, and Hal doubles over. He takes large, gasping breaths, wondering if this is when his uterus finally explodes and sends shrapnel of spite through his body.

But no, it’s quite the opposite. The blades of pain cease after that crescendo, and a slow aching throb builds in their place. Hal knows the exact moment he’s ready, feeling a wetness that is different from the blood suddenly coating the center of his pants. 

Wayne’s head snaps to look at him, all the markings of a predator catching scent of prey.

Hal has never been so thankful he’s an adrenaline junkie.

He meets Wayne’s gaze with a cocky grin, slowly standing up. He feels things shaking loose in his omega hole, freely bleeding out and self-cleaning. Already, the dull throb is being taken over by a sweeter clench.

“Come on and catch me, Wayne,” Hal taunts before turning around and sprinting for the training room.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all, thank you for waiting so patiently here is the long awaited smut and final piece to this fun fic! Despite it taking so long and my double guesses of OOCness, I really enjoyed writing this fic! I love Hal and hope this pairing gets more and more content in the future!
> 
> **Reminder this smut is inherently dubcon on the premise of 'fuck or die' please take care of yourself first and foremost.**

See the thing is, while he didn’t lie, Hal didn’t exactly tell Boy Scout the whole truth.

It is true that he and Wayne had only fucked once.

But there had been a lot of build up to it.

Hal knows it’s the whole unreliable narrator thing, but he’ll swear until he is blue in the face that Batman set out to seduce him first. Snatches the ring off your finger once, and won’t stop calling you fly boy or pretty boy or tiger.

It used to drive him insane because no one would believe Bats would even look at Lantern’s direction if it wasn’t to glare. Bats wouldn’t even talk to Lantern in the field if he could help it, but as soon as they were alone, would crowd him against the nearest surface and creatively list all the ways he could shut Hal up.

And despite it all, Hal liked it that way. Liked the clear divide between work and fun, liked that he could be gone months at a time and Spooky would just pick back up with him as if no time had passed. Liked that he could get mouthy, could push buttons, and Bats wouldn’t try and control him – would just push him back just as hard.

It was good, their little frenemies-with-kinda-but-not-really-benefits thing. It’d been a game of cat and mouse with no real label of who was who for so long, the tension between them building and building until finally it snapped. 

He’d fucked Bruce Wayne and then gotten fucked over for it. 

Fuck Bruce Wayne. 

“Seriously, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you. I’m never going to let you live this down, jackass,” Hal pants as he rounds the corner to the doorway leading to the training hall.

Wayne doesn’t even acknowledge Hal spoke.

God, Hal feels almost high. He’s always been something of an adrenaline junkie and there isn’t anything quite like his biology mixing with his psyche to treat a nearly three-hundred-pound mass of pure muscle and dominance running behind him as something sexy.

He skids down the hall, taking a hard right. The hall ripples with movement, a pathway suddenly appearing, probably at Cyborg’s prompting, to take them more quickly to the training room. Never has Hal appreciated the tech that goes into the Watchtower more.

His senses blare just in time for him to duck, quickly flattening himself to the ground in a dive just as Wayne goes sailing over his head. It’s only thanks to years of burpees does Hal spring back to his feet as quickly as he does, practically leaping into the new pathway as Wayne gets to his feet and continues the chase.

Hal knows he’s being toyed with. He’s fast and agile, but Wayne is like a machine. He’s seen his physical test results, knows Wayne could outrun him even without this blast of testosterone. The fact that Bats doesn’t have him currently pinned means the fucker is enjoying this chase.

Seriously, fuck Bruce Wayne.

The door to the training room comes within sight after another hard left and Hal sprints headlong into it, trusting Cyborg to open the door automatically. Sure enough, the doors slide open and Hal dives in, followed closely, too closely, by Wayne.

Wayne must sense they’re where they’re meant to be – that or he picks up on Hal’s movements slowing down – because he stops, head cocked to the side as he takes in his new environment. While he does that, Hal watches as the titanium doors to the training room slide shut. An ominous click and the hissing of various doors shutting the hallway beyond that gear into place. The small part of his brain that he can still dedicate to rational thought thinks it must be for Superman’s benefit, to avoid Clark rushing in here at the thought of a fight.

Whatever. That’s no longer important.

Wayne must recognize the room on some level because he quickly gives up looking around and instead focuses on Hal. Hal backs up, heading to the center of the training room which is meant for hand to hand combat. The entire floor there consists of high-grade padding, the closest Hal can get to both comfort and safety while he takes on Wayne.

Wayne lets him back up, the infuriating patient look in his eyes sending pin-prickles of irritation through Hal. He’s too calm, too assured that he’s going to get his prize. Nothing like the frenzied alpha that was trying to kill them a few minutes ago. It’s absolutely freaky how much self control Bats has, even eyeballs deep into his rut.

“Okay, asshole,” Hal calls once he notices the difference in texture underneath his feet. “Let's do this.”

That cocky attitude lasts about all of four minutes. God, fuck biology because trying to fight while his insides are trying to liquidate themselves is fucking irritating. Hal gets his own boost from the influx of hormones, aids his strength, for all the good that does him. 

Wayne is an _asshole_. 

Now that he can scent a willing omega, all the anger seems to vanish. The alpha is almost, Hal balks, playful as he practically dances with Hal. 

“For the love of all that is fucking holy, do you ever _stop moving!?_ ”

Hal can’t catch his breath, and of course he wastes the precious bits of it yelling at a walking dick. Pretty much literally.

He can’t even make a sound of frustration when Wayne manages to grab him _again_ , a large hand on his right forearm and the other darting out quickly under his left flank to pin his left arm to his side. 

The fucker presses right up against Hal’s back. He rubs his baseball bat of a dick against the wet spot of Hal’s pants and Hal seethes with how easy it is for Wayne to keep grabbing him.

Hal’s just about to rear back and slam the back of his skull into Wayne’s nose when the bastard ducks his head down to press his nose against Hal’s swollen scent glands. Hal can’t help his yelp, the sensitive nerve endings prickling in a way that makes Hal gush more slick. He tugs at his arms weakly, but betrays himself by tilting his head to the side.

And then Wayne is off, _again_. 

Hal hisses, barely resisting the urge to suit back up so he can clock the asshole. He can’t fucking deny he isn’t turned on too by this new game of cat and mouse. Or cat and most-definitely-for-dinner-but-you-amuse-me mouse. 

On some base level Wayne must recognize Hal’s scent because he isn’t rushing this like a knotheaded alpha would. The rut is there, Hal can scent Wayne’s need, but the primal need to mate, to breed, seems to momentarily take a back seat to Wayne’s need to dominate. 

Wayne will pin Hal down, scent him all over, and then release him so they can start the chase all over again. He’s doing it to incite Hal’s full force, to make Hal give everything so when Wayne pins him down with the intent to breed it will show Hal’s hindbrain omega how strong and capable Wayne is. 

Well, fuck that. Hal wants to viciously tear into Wayne, pin him down, mount _him_ to show Wayne he isn’t going to be a simpering omega that just lies down and takes it. It’s foolish because Hal is playing right into Wayne’s hand, going harder with each tackle, each punch, each grab than he should. He’ll forgive himself in hindsight because anyone would want to risk it all to deck that smug face on principal. 

However, the ridiculous dance is wearing on Hal’s stamina, already not in the best condition. Not to mention each scent mark has him feeling more and more dazed with need. It’s making him not as sharp, so when Hal bolts he makes a mistake, cornering himself and Wayne is on him once more. 

Hal cries out as he is slammed into the floor-to-ceiling window, Wayne eagerly pressing into the length of him, nose back in Hal’s scent glands. Hal’s resolve breaks easily, tilting his head to the side faster than last time to let Wayne in. He shivers when Wayne laps at the sweat pouring off of Hal, making a rumble of approval that is the most verbal cue Hal has gotten this entire time. 

“Way - Bruce,” Hal gasps, flushed face leaning against the window, hips bucking up as his own hard cock aches for any friction. 

W-Bruce - fuck, he needs to start thinking of him as Bruce so Hal can bring familiarity into this - releases a huff of air, almost displeased. Hal shudders at the intimidating sound, skin on fire where Bruce noses back to Hal’s glands. But this time it’s not just deep inhales or a rub of his own throat over the area. This time, Bruce ventures further down. 

Bruce is completely taking advantage of the holes of Hal’s torn shirt, switching from breathing in Hal’s scent to tasting him.

Hal keens the first swipe of a hot, wet tongue on his sensitive glands. The sudden pressure is an instant pleasure button and has him rocking back instinctively. Higher thoughts completely take off, and all Hal can think of is _more_.

But that stubborn pit in the deepest part of his soul isn’t having it. Bruce hasn’t won yet.

He steps down on Bruce’s instep with his still booted foot, while simultaneously freeing his arm from Bruce’s distracted grip. He rears it back and slams his elbow into Bruce’s gut, wrenching himself away when Bruce instinctively doubles over.

Hal breaks into a run, heading back to his original destination. He nearly freezes when Bruce releases a sound Hal has never heard before but has every cell of his body quivering in anticipation.

It’s just a pure matter of pride that Hal refuses to drop and present, instead calling out, “You can do better than that, asshole!”

Sure, Hal, he thinks, challenge the deadly ninja assassin to ream your hole. Makes perfect sense.

The sound of bare feet slapping against the floor makes Hal struggle to pick up his pace. If there is nothing else, Hal has fucking grit and determination. He’ll use whatever stamina he has to its fullest. It’s basic military tactics - wear down the enemy before you strike.

Doesn’t quite work the same when you have the distinct feeling your enemy is doing the same to you.

Hal gives as good as he can, punching, kicking, fucking _biting_ where he can. Bruce is clearly done playing though.

It’s anticlimactic when Bruce pins him down within seconds of his escape, this time a dominating growl backing up the nearly oppressive amount of pheromones clogging the air. 

Hal whimpers. 

He can’t help it, his head is suddenly swimming with the need to submit as Bruce manhandles him into position on the floor. Hal’s on all fours – well, technically, ass up with his forearms the only reason his face isn’t smushed into the padded mats. It’s a nearly perfect submission presentation with Bruce in between his legs, cock pressed over Hal’s clothed ass. 

Bruce immediately crowds over him and Hal has never felt the three inches of height difference between them so keenly as Bruce practically engulfs him.

“Hal,” Bruce mumbles, voice so deep, Hal almost doesn’t recognize his name in the surprise of hearing Bruce say something.

“Bru-ha!” Hal moans, part fear and part arousal when Bruce literally tears apart the remains of Hal’s shirt. The pulls against his chest and arms hurts for a second before the shirt gives in and Hal is naked from the waist up.

Bruce is back, nose running from one end of Hal’s neck to the other. He mumbles again, “Hal.”

Hal’s brain tries to find room to think but it’s incredibly hard when his own heat is simmering under his skin. He has a prime alpha above him, ready to mount him. He’s exhausted, reserves are low. And Bruce is fucking muttering Hal’s name with a near doting need.

“Asshole,” Hal spits out but it’s without real heat. “You owe me so bad, Spooky.”

Bruce’s hands on his hips tighten and Hal spares a moment to marvel at the idea that Bruce can probably understand Hal, at least at base. He’s heard stories of Bruce’s ridiculous resolve and focus, how he could throw off programing from fucking torture. Figures even a rut fever that would render a normal human primal, he’s still there.

Which means he’ll probably try to internalize this and use it to feed his god awful guilt-complex.

“Like last time, B,” Hal says, getting his arms under him and pushing up under Bruce’s still form. “Remember? It was so good, the way you filled me up. Want me to jog your memory?”

Hal arches, rubbing his ass against Bruce’s cock. His pants are unsalvageable, still wet with his blood, slick and Bruce’s precum. Bruce had been rubbing up against him every time he pinned him, and Hal is pretty sure he’s cum at least once.

“You told me you had better ways to shut me up,” Hal purrs, throwing his head over his shoulder and looking at Bruce’s bloodshot eyes that are honed in with intense focus on Hal’s. “You went down on me until I couldn’t speak anymore, Spooky. Wanna do it again? I’ll need a little grease to fit that bad boy inside me.”

The near pornographic lines seem to do the trick. Bruce’s lips twitch and he blinks a few times.

“Fly boy.”

Hal grins wide and triumphant. So, he is in there. “Yeah. Yours for tonight, _babe_. So hurry up.”

Bruce flips him easily and fast. Hal barely has time to gasp before he’s on his back, legs flying up instinctively to Bruce’s waist. But he doesn’t need to worry about wrestling, Bruce is leaning down for a kiss that has Hal’s lips nearly splitting open at the force.

Still, he moans because he likes it like this. Desperate, needy, rough. He fists his hands in Bruce’s hair, opening his mouth and sucking fiercely on Bruce’s tongue. The alpha moans, pressing deeper. Unlike their fight, the weight pressing him down is deeply arousing. His cock throbs at the way his hips are stretched around Bruce’s waist, how he can feel Bruce’s cock pressing into the crease of his ass.

Hal reaches one hand down to unbuckle his pants and Bruce helps, never stopping their frantic kisses. When Hal’s pants slip off his hips, Bruce moves away with a nip to Hal’s bottom lip that draws blood.

“Vampire,” Hal complains, breathing harsh and heavy. He’s grinning though.

Bruce makes a show of licking his lips. It should be gross. It’s incredibly hot.

Hal moans, head thrown back when Bruce ducks down, kissing down his throat. His teeth scrape over Hal’s pheromone glands, swollen with all the attention Bruce had given them. They’re so sensitive that Hal can’t keep his mouth shut against the instinctive sounds of pleasure that surge out of him. His cock is so hard it hurts and each suck of Bruce’s kiss swollen lips against his sensitive skin has precum leaking from the tip. His slick won’t stop pouring down his ass and Hal can’t remember the last time he felt so needy.

“Hurry,” Hal demands again, swallowing a moan.

“Mmm,” Bruce mumbles, but obligingly goes down further.

“Bruce!” Hal cries when the bastard sucks a nipple into his mouth. His hips jerk hard, lifting to grind against Bruce desperately as hot want surges through him.

Bruce is downright cruel, biting hard and sucking hard, not stopping until Hal is writhing, hands nearly ripping hair from Bruce’s scalp at the sudden intense sensation. God, he’s not going to cum from having his tits sucked!

It takes all his concentration but on his next buck up, Hal times it so that his erection brushes against Bruce’s, pressing firmly and hard. It strains his abs but it’s worth it for the way Bruce falters.

Taking his chance, Hal tightens his thighs, bursting up and using the momentum to flip Bruce over. He quickly grabs Bruce’s hands and pins them beside his head.

His fucking nipple throbs.

Bruce looks less than pleased at the new position, but Hal could care less.

“Stay,” he orders Bruce, smirking at the frown on Bruce’s face. “Trust me, B. We need to take the edge off.”

It’s probably the dirty swipe of his tongue up the palm of his hand that stops Bruce from switching position. Hal makes it lewd as he gets his palm wet, lifting off Bruce just a bit and using his other hand to push his underwear down. He can’t spread his thighs a lot with how his pants catch mid-thigh but it’s enough.

The moment Hal grabs both their dicks into the tight grip of his hand, they both moan. Hal can’t stop moaning, not with the way Bruce bucks up, small thrusts into the tunnel of Hal’s hand, acting as if Hal’s weight on his pelvis is nothing.

He can’t grip them properly. He switches gear. “Oh you’re going to love this, baby,” Hal purrs, reaching behind him with his other hand.

Bruce’s eyes zero in on the wrist disappeared behind Hal. His eyes drift to the small view he can get, eyes blown as he watches Hal sink two fingers into himself. It’s beyond heady watching the desire in Bruce’s face as Hal makes a slutty sound, thighs trembling.

His ass reminds him how much he wants a knot at the intrusion of two fingers. It swallows them easily, leaking in a way that would have Hal dying of mortification in any other situation. He can’t help how wet he is, it’s Bruce’s fucking scent. He can’t get enough of it. Before he can tip himself, Hal withdraws his fingers bringing them back around.

Hal grins wide and triumphant. “Cum for me, Spooky,” Hal orders, slick clad hand wrapping around Bruce’s knot.

He’s nearly bucked clear off the alpha. Bruce groans, deep and guttural, hands flying to Hal’s hips in a bruising grip. His thighs tense and Hal has to brace himself to keep Bruce pinned. His grip tightens on both their cocks and Bruce’s knot and apparently he’s doing something right because the alpha nearly howls.

Desire is thick in Hal’s throat as he watches Bruce lose control, head thrashing back and forth as he writhes under Hal. It makes Hal’s own movement pick up before he can control it, focusing on rubbing his hand at the tip of their cocks while his other hand tightens on Bruce’s knot. It looks like it should hurt – Hal’s hand can barely fit around the girth and the flesh feels too rigid and swollen, nothing like a healthy knot.

It makes Hal focus past the pleasure blinding his own mind. He needs Bruce to cum. Hal abandons his own cock, focusing on pumping and squeezing Bruce.

“Sweetheart,” Hal says breathily, leaning down and engaging his abs to meet Bruce who surges up desperately to kiss Hal. “That’s right,” he gasps, licking into Bruce’s mouth and back, “cum for me.”

“ _Hal_ ,” Bruce moans, a tortured sound. Hal hums, practically lying on Bruce now. He turns his head to the side, lets Bruce bury his face in Hal’s throat, small desperate moans flowing out of his mouth.

It scarcely takes a few seconds after that. Bruce’s grip is painful, almost worrying, but Hal ignores it, keeps going until pleasure finally slackens Bruce’s face and the alpha stills. His knot pulses wildly under Hal’s hand and barely a moment later cum bursts from Bruce’s cock, spurting hard and plentiful. Hal can feel it coat him but doesn’t pause, making sure he’s milking as much as he can.

It takes a few minutes. Hal’s hand is cramping but he refuses to stop, not when Bruce is making small, almost inaudible, pained sounds, bucking once in a while in Hal’s pin. He doesn’t leave Hal’s neck, practically breathing Hal in with every breath.

Hal’s own arousal has him twitching, thrumming with need. He breathes through his mouth, for all the good that does him. Bruce’s scent is practically imprinted in the back of Hal’s nose, more potent now that he's cum and is all but shoving his own glands by Hal’s face. It’s addictive and makes Hal squirm.

“I can’t wait anymore,” Hal hisses, bucking when Bruce’s hands slip down to cup his ass, squeezing hard.

Bruce understands, of course he does. Before Hal can catch his breath for his next words, Bruce has them flipped over again. It should really get old, how easily Bruce wrestles him, but it doesn’t.

“You can go again, can’t you, baby?” Hal murmurs, one leg slinking up to Bruce’s waist.

Bruce grabs the leg, hitching it higher as he grounds down. His erection brushes Hal’s as if to say he has no problem going for more.

Hal takes his revenge by sliding his cum covered hand down Bruce’s back. He has a brief vindictive thought of carding it through Bruce’s hair but he’s not that much of an ass. Speaking of.

Hal’s nails dig into Bruce’s ass. “As much as I like seeing your gruffy face, babe, you need to mount me. Can you manage?”

Bruce nods into Hal’s chest and only then does Hal realize Bruce is shaking. He must be really trying to control himself and Hal appreciates the thought, but he’s not going to break.

With that thought he drapes his arm around Bruce’s neck, bringing the alpha’s face closer. Bruce ducks needily, lips seeking Hal’s. Hal gives in, lips pressed open by Bruce’s insistent tongue. When he gets entrance to Hal’s mouth, he licks in like he’s trying to devour Hal, none of the finesse that has left Hal a puddle on the floor present here.

“Come on, big guy,” Hal gasps, coaxing Bruce back up in between kisses, “let’s do this.”

Hal’s aware of his own heat simmering under his skin. He’s making hasty decisions like choosing to forgo prep. He’s aching for it, needs it deep and rough. The fingering he’d given himself briefly still lingers in his mind. Bruce’s knot is deflated enough that when it pops again, it’ll be inside him and he can adjust. Right now, he just wants Bruce’s dick.

Bruce makes a low, rumbling sound as Hal positions himself on his knees, face down. One hand reaches behind him and parts an asscheek, showcasing the glistening shine to Bruce.

“Fuck me,” Hal demands, saying it like the challenge it is.

Bruce apparently needs no further prompting. Bruce grabs his hips and shuffles back into position, the head of his cock notching against Hal’s leaking hole.

“Oh, fuck, fuck,” Hal moans high and hard as Bruce’s cock sinks into him.

His hands scramble against the mat and he frantically tries to remind himself to breathe as Bruce’s thickness fills him and stretches him in the bestworst way. It’s almost too much, his rim is stretched painfully to accommodate the intrusion but his insides are alight with pleasured fire as Bruce’s cock fucks in.

Bruce is so big, so hard, he fills Hal up so quickly. He’s not rough, Hal can vaguely feel how tense Bruce is, holding himself back from just using Hal like a cock sheath. The thought makes Hal twinge in pleasure, ass clamping down hard around Bruce.

“Hal,” Bruce groans, hips bucking and pushing too much at once.

Hal can’t stop his cry of pain and that has Bruce completely freezing. It’s worse now because Hal can only think of how much space Bruce takes up in him, over him, like he can feel Bruce in his throat with how much pressure is inside him. He’s so close to exploding and they’ve only just begun.

“Don’t stop,” Hal orders, nearly begs, “fuck me, damnit, B, _fuck me_!”

Bruce makes a sound akin to a gasp but he’s moving. Small, jerky thrusts with no rhythm until the pleasure seems to sink in. Hal doesn’t know, he can’t think of anything beyond how good he feels.

“Babe, baby,” Hal chants, mouth unable to close as he pants for air.

Bruce’s thrusts are building up speed and depth, his hips smacking into Hal’s ass on each thrust in. His grip is painful on Hal’s thigh but Hal can’t spare the breath to complain. He’s leaning over Hal steadily, one foot braced on the ground the other nudging Hal’s legs further apart to sink in deeper.

It’s been so long since Hal’s been dicked down. He prefers women, sometimes plays around with a dildo and will call up a sex friend if he’s truly desperate. Before Bruce fucking Wayne, Hal was perfectly content to go his entire life without having an alpha male’s knot in his ass.

And now he can’t think of anything else.

It’s growing, Hal can feel it. It makes his own cock pulse where it hangs between his legs, leaking profusely. It’s only the massive confusion of all the sensations that have kept him from cumming but he’s so wet, dripping from his ass and his cock. It’ll be no issue for Bruce’s knot to slip right into him.

“Baby,” Hal cries, “Bruce, oh f-fuck, Bruce!”

Bruce’s hips speed up rapidly until he’s practically jackrabbiting into Hal. Each thrust is hefty, scrapes deep and hard inside Hal until he can’t focus on anything except how good he feels. He probably looks like a fucked out slut, eyes half way rolled back, tongue out and panting as he drools for more.

He didn’t think he could feel any better but then Bruce shifts his grip, hikes Hal’s ass up higher and there –

“Bruce!” Hal screams as Bruce nails his sweet spot. “There!” 

It’s right where his omegan opening begins, unbearably sensitive. When Bruce knots him, all of Bruce’s cum is meant to go straight up the opening into Hal’s womb.

Bruce, fuck him, because he must understand what Hal’s frantic pitch in his voice means, what his fluttering ass is telling because he doesn’t move. He hammers away at the spot until Hal feels his climax rushing to him like a tidal wave.

“Bruce!” Hal screams, entire body seizing as his orgasm takes over him. It feels unbelievably good, his untouched cock pulsing as he spurts cum over the mat. His ass clamps down like a vice, milking Bruce’s cock and in turn ratcheting his own pleasure higher as slick pours out of him.

The sweet fog of his orgasm is only temporary. Hal’s too sensitive, the pleasure almost stinging with how Bruce fucks into the sheath of his ass with abandon, grunts of pleasure resounding the room. He can’t move as rapidly with Hal clamping down and Hal knows what he has to do.

“Oh, ah – B,” Hal stutters, “cum in me, fill me up – gimme your knot!”

Bruce grunts, breath laboured and harsh but he seems to get the message. The shallow thrusts are forgone for deeper, harder, longer thrusts. Hal’s rim opens up just a bit wider each time Bruce’s half formed knot presses against it until finally, finally, it pops in.

Hal is nearly limp in pleasure, doesn’t know how he’s holding himself up. Bruce’s knot swells rapidly and Bruce hunches over Hal’s form, until Hal is practically blanketed by the alpha. Bruce doesn’t stop rocking his hips, small grinding rotations that has Hal helplessly moaning, bordering on sobbing. It’s almost too much but his cock still hardens and Hal still wants so he presses back.

Bruce buries his head into the crook of Hal’s neck as he finally stills. It’s the smell first, then the low groan of pleasure, that cues Hal in. Bruce cums, teeth clamping down on the meat of Hal’s shoulder as he pumps Hal full. 

Hal feels so wet, the humiliation from the pleasure of it all has him moaning unabashedly. He’s hyper aware of how some of Bruce’s cum and Hal’s own slick escape the plug of the knot, cascading down his thighs even as Bruce tips him to get his cum as deep as possible. It satisfies the deep itch of his heat and Hal pants as residual pleasure flutters through him. 

“Yeah,” Hal slurs, coaxing Bruce with his ass fluttering weakly around Bruce’s knot. “Oh, fuck, that’s it.”

Hal’s eyes are unseeing as he focuses on how Bruce’s knot fucking expands inside him, widening his hole to the point where the dulled pleasure is mixed with pain. He can’t move anymore, pinned under Bruce’s mouth, on his knot. Hal’s luckily still limp, can’t tense even if he wanted too because it feels too good.

Bruce groans, shaking above him as he finishes his orgasm. It’s long, alpha knotting orgasms usually are. There is a long while where Hal and Bruce struggle to catch their respective breathes. And while Bruce might catch his first, it’s Hal, of course, that speaks first. 

“There we go,” Hal croaks, voice hoarse, “a little breeding session and you’ll be good as new. Never gonna let you live this down, Spooky,” Hal repeats, struggling to try and keep control. He doesn’t want to think about how his neck is throbbing, aching to tilt in submission so Bruce can have free access to his pheromone glands. He’s gotta keep talking.

But before he can, Bruce groans, mouth unlatching from Hal’s skin as he whispers, “Shut up, Hal.”

Hal’s eyes fly open, he’s unsure when he closed them. He almost tries to look back until he remembers he’s skewered on a knot that could rip his ass to shreds. “With me, B?”

Instead of answering Bruce gently moves them to the ground until they’re on their sides, Bruce spooning Hal. Hal doesn’t have anything in him to protest, just sinks into the warmth and lets his instincts be soothed by Bruce’s body. 

There is a silence that is too heavy for two men currently literally attached at the hip. Bruce’s hands wander and Hal thinks back on their first and last night, how tender Bruce had been in the aftermath, just like this. Hal’s eyes flutter, sinking into the calming, almost ticklish touch of Bruce’s fingers over his skin. It’s intimate and not, but leaves something unsure in Hal’s gut, just enough to keep him from sinking into exhaustion. 

Just as Hal is going to speak up again, Bruce’s hand ducks down and grabs his cock. 

“Bruce!” Hal shrieks, curling into himself to protect his sensitive dick. Bad idea. It tugs Bruce’s knot inside him and now Hal is assaulted with the pressure of a knot nudging his prostate. “Fuck!”

“One more,” Bruce rumbles into his ear. Hal has no idea what he means but he doesn’t fight Bruce when he starts to pump Hal’s dick, rapidly hardening.

“Fuck,” Hal chokes out. His stomach tightens into a familiar coil rapidly as he clenches on Bruce’s knot, fighting not to thrust into the sheath of Bruce’s fist.

It’s over almost too quickly. Bruce’s clearly getting his mind back because he plays Hal like a fiddle, other hand tweaking Hal’s sensitive nipples as he rocks his hips into Hal until he’s sobbing, arching up and cumming all over himself and the mats.

Bruce moans into his neck where he’d been mouthing at the numerous marks he’s already left. Hal’s going to need turtlenecks for a week at this rate.

“Fucking Dracula,” Hal croaks, pinching Bruce’s wrist in warning when it stays cupped around his sensitive dick. 

Obligingly, Bruce lets go with a, “Mmm,” pressed into Hal’s neck. 

This time the silence isn’t as heavy. Bruce lets Hal get his breath back just as Hal lets Bruce ride out the knot inside him. All too soon he feels the tell-tale shift inside him, Bruce’s knot slowly losing it’s rigidity, deflating. With it, Hal grimaces, is the flood of cum and slick down Hal’s thighs. 

“Will you need to go again?” Hal rasps, hoping the answer is a ‘no’.

Hal is now fighting back his exhaustion. He’d already been tired from the trip back but all of this – the stress, the adrenaline, the fighting and the sex – it’s a miracle Hal hasn’t passed out.

But Bruce shouldn’t be done yet. Two popped knots with an omega is good, great even in terms of Bruce’s level of released repressed steam, but Hal can still feel his own heat under his skin so it isn’t likely that Bruce is done either.

“Mmm,” Bruce affirms, arms tightening around Hal. It happens quickly, Bruce’s knot shrinks and then Bruce gently tugging his cock out of Hal. “I can take care of it. Thank you- ”

“Do not thank me, asshole,” Hal interrupts, groaning as he gets himself into a sitting position. “I – you – we had no choice -” Hal cuts himself off, frustrated that he can’t find the right words without it sounding like a terrible excuse.

“You saved my life,” Bruce interrupts, his stupid voice so deep it reaches Batman’s level without the fucking modifiers. “Thank you, Hal.”

There are so many questions that bubble to the forefront of Hal’s mind. Why hadn’t this asshole just done the smart thing and shacked up with Clark? Why wasn’t he more mad at Hal? Why did Bruce’s alpha move like he was trying to claim Hal –

Bruce interrupts his thoughts. “We’ve already come this far, we might as well finish it. Let me take responsibility.”

Hal turns around to glare at Bruce, only to freeze. His hair is matted to his forehead with sweat, face flushed and red, eyes half lidded as he stares at Hal. It’s leagues away from the feral creature Hal had been fighting in the hallway. Fuck Bruce Wayne.

Hal’s gut clenches as if to remind him his heat is really ready to go again. Fuck, he’d _just_ been knotted – is Wayne some kind of walking aphrodisiac?

“Please,” Bruce whispers, voice almost tender. “Let me take care of you.”

Hal barks out a laugh. “I’ll be taking care of your sorry ass,” Hal deflects, grabbing Bruce’s arm and pushing it away.

He struggles to his feet, a mortified blush springing to his face when he nearly sways. Bruce is on his feet, grabbing Hal and as if Hal is going to be the omega that swoons into an alpha’s arms. 

“You’ve recovered faster than I thought you would,” Hal grimaces, looking down at their sticky selves, “but we’ve both still got a few hours to let our bodies do their thing. Since I tore the door down on your room, I guess Chez Lantern it is.”

Hal hardly has the words out before Bruce is leaning down and kissing Hal. And oh, there is the toe-curling Wayne tongue. Hal nearly swoons _again_ , by the time Bruce pulls off, mouth tingling with sharp pleasure as he gasps up at Bruce.

“Let’s go,” Bruce says simply.

How can it be so easy for the bastard? After all the angst Hal had to go through, the still lingering guilt in the back of his mind, it doesn’t add up. But then again, Batman - Bruce Wayne, has always been a mystery. 

The look he gives Hal is way too soft, it makes Hal hesitant. Why is he acting like this? The last time, Wayne couldn’t get Hal out of his mansion fast enough. And now he looks like he’s ready to cart Hal off in a proper princess carry. 

Tsking, Hal moves to run a hand through his hair, only just remembering how disgusting that would be. He moves naturally and puts it on Wayne’s shoulder - nudging him out of the way. Whatever, if it’s that easy for Wayne, what does Hal have to lose? It’s probably all the pheromones in the air. Yeah, that must be it.

“You heard the man, Cy,” Hal talks up at the ceiling. “We’re heading to my room.”

The door to the training room unlocks. Hal spares a brief look around the entire mess and grimaces. “Might have to just torch the place.”

Way-Bruce grabs Hal’s wrist and tugs him to the door, unabashed about his naked form. “I’ll take care of it. Come on, fly boy.”

And Hal may still be confused as all fuck of how exactly he ended up like this, but for now, he’s happy to shelve it and live life how he’s always lived it.

“Better hurry,” Hal purrs, slipping in front of Bruce and making sure he has a view of the cum dripping out of Hal’s ass.

Bruce growls and Hal finds a fourth wind, taking off for his room with Bruce hot behind him.

{End.}

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope guys enjoyed! My best well wishes for everyone out there during these world-changing times, please take care!


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